


Curated Collection

by Skalidra



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Hunters, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Merpeople, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 18:04:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13253700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: Publicly, Slade Wilson is a hunter. A good one. But privately, he has a habit of collecting the creatures that he hunts instead of killing them. Just one of every kind, contained in his home by iron or magic or whatever else is needed. Dick is one of those creatures, a vampire taken just after he was turned who's never known anything but Slade's care. Jason is another, fresh from the sea and not at all happy with his new captivity, or the new company.





	Curated Collection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [firefright](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefright/gifts).



> Welcome! So this is the first chapter of the second gift I wrote for [Firefright](https://firefrightfic.tumblr.com/), my excellent dear. This one was an idea that we talked about, with collecting-hunter!Slade and various-supernatural-creatures Dick and Jason. It's meant as a Dick/Jason story, but there are some bits of Dick/Slade in there as well 
> 
>  
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)

Slade's been building a new cage.

Dick's been with him long enough now to know that it means something new is coming home. Some new piece to Slade's collection; something for him to mind and feed, and figure out who plays nice with who. It's his job, and why he gets the run of the house as long as he behaves. Well, that and the fact that he can't leave it. Slade's reversed the usual magics that govern his kind… he thinks. He knows some things by… instinct. Others by being told. Usually he can't enter a house without invitation. Now, he can't leave this one.

It's better that he's contained. He doesn't know what he might do out there, or how he'd survive. If he'd even _want_ to survive. It was... terrifying waking up to Slade's face, being held still, being fed for the first time. The taste of the blood over his tongue, rich and hot and better than any other he's ever tasted again after that. The sharp fear of sunlight he discovered the next morning, and his new allergic reaction to silver, made him believe what Slade's words couldn't.

The man that attacked him, that bit him and then hooked fingers in his mouth (at the time, he thought it was to keep him quiet), was a vampire. When he woke back up his creator was a pile of ash, but that didn't mean anything. He's still not-quite-dead, and he's still cursed. Slade decided to keep him instead of kill him, so here he is. Tending Slade's collection of beasts and rare beings.

Some are held by physical things, cages and locks and reinforced plastic. Others by magic or deals they shouldn't have made. Only ever one of each type, though sometimes they get replaced by a better version. Or sometimes they die; not all the things Slade keeps are immortal or long-lived.

The new cage is unlike any of the others though. It's built against a wall, plastic on the other three sides and no door. Half the top is open, and Slade's built a walkway up to it made of sturdy steel. A skylight above lets light pour in during the day, and the room is lit by dimmer lighting at night. It's _large_. Larger than any of the other containers, certainly. It must be a big, dangerous beast to give it that much room and no exit but straight up. At least, that's what he thinks until Slade fills the bottom with sand, fits a large rock structure into one corner, like a cave, and fills the whole thing with water. Saltwater, by the smell and taste.

He leaves on the next hunting trip within two days of completing the cage, and Dick settles in to wait. He's good at waiting, these days, and at not letting the silence bother him. When Slade is gone he keeps the house in order, and makes sure that no one causes trouble. He's another one of Slade's collection, true, but he's trusted above the rest. That's his job.

The others don't like him much, at least not most of them, but he's learned not to mind that either. The fresher they are the angrier they are, and the longer-lived creatures usually take some time to settle into the reality that they're not going anywhere. They make friends among themselves sometimes, but very rarely with him. (Slade encourages the friendships; social interaction makes them happier, which makes them more likely to accept that this is their new home.)

His two closest relationships, apart from Slade, are the demon and the fae of Slade's collection. Victims of deals that they made with Slade, not knowing the technicalities that meant they'd never see their ends of the bargain. The demon owns Slade's soul, technically. Or it will when he dies, which will be exactly never. (And if the day ever comes that Slade decides to end things, well, the demon will certainly die first.)

Slade is gone three weeks before he returns, and he brings a tank with him. It's late so Dick is fully awake, and he's by the door when Slade comes through, towing the tank behind him by a rope handle. He's about to ask what it is, but the sight answers his question for him.

The creature in the water-filled tank is curled on its side, hands tied at the small of its back and face tucked down against its shoulder, hidden from sight. The top half of it is more or less a human male, with shorter black hair and fairly pale skin, marked with a scattered collection of scars that mainly look a lot like claw marks. The skin at its waist transitions into small, red and black scales, striated in color and sweeping into a large, powerful looking tail that's doubled back on itself in a curved arc thanks to the tank. The fin at the end is somewhat translucent, spread like webbing and colored the same black and red pattern as its tail. It matches several smaller fins spaced along the length of the tail and cutting out diagonally.

It's a merman. Its torso is defined muscle; it's smaller than Slade, and definitely younger, but the otherworldly look to it makes it look no less dangerous. Dick can't see its face, not with it hidden like that, but he can tell by the movement of its back and the flutter of the gills on the visible side of its throat that it’s breathing. It draws his eye to the center of its back as well, where there's a thin line of scales following the length of its spine, spreading out at the bottom to meet the ones at its waist. The middle line of scales is slightly ridged, tingeing lighter than the rest of them and forming a neat path all the way down to just above its largest fin.

"Everything's gone smoothly while I've been away?" Slade asks, as Dick stares into the tank and keeps pace.

"Yes," he answers easily, watching how it shifts, head lifting slightly but not enough to see its face. "Everything's fine, no problems. The hunt went well?"

Slade chuckles, and pauses for long enough to reach over and ruffle his hair. "That it did. Hungry, boy?" He dips his head and Slade smiles, resuming his walk. "Let's get this one settled in, then we can see about getting you fed something a little more fresh than the stores."

Dick's gums itch a bit, his mouth starting to water, but he takes an unnecessary breath and pushes the instant desire away. Being impatient isn't going to do anything but delay things.

He follows Slade through the house, into the room that houses the mer's cage. Just as it was when Slade left it. Dick looks at the small tank, then the larger one, and quietly wonders how they're going to get the beast into it. Slade's powerful, and so is he; if they're careful, maybe they can lift the tank and carry it up the stairs. It'll be tricky, and there will almost definitely be some spilled water, but they could do it. Or they could take it out of the tank and get it up there, if it can breathe air, but he doesn't know how dangerous the creature could be. Slade rarely hunts things that aren't dangerous in some way.

Slade stops the tank at the bottom of the stairs. "Alright, boy. Step back."

Dick shifts back a step, and then another when Slade glances up at him. He watches, still and silent, as Slade opens the latches to the tank and pulls the lid of it off. The mer's head turns to look up at Slade, and Dick gets his first look at sea-colored, blue-green eyes and a distinctly handsome face. He's heard that mers are pretty, but that face instantly draws him in, its mouth parted and the look in its eyes something desperate and angry. The emotion brings everything in its face to life, and that only makes him more interested. It shifts in the tank, its hands pulling against the binds around its wrists. They don't give.

Slade reaches into the tank with no apparent fear, his hand closing around the back of its neck and dragging it up out of the water. The mer doesn't struggle, not even as Slade presses its head to one edge of the tank, pinning it with its head and neck raised above the water. Dick watches, but it seems to still be breathing fine.

"You're going into that tank," Slade says, voice low and hard. "You remember the consequences we talked about, don't you? How far from water you are?" The mer doesn't answer, but Slade seems to take it as an affirmative. "Good. I prefer it when you listen. Now behave, and I won't need to remind you of any of that."

He hasn't been ordered to help, so Dick only watches as Slade pulls the beast out of the tank by the grip on its neck. His second hand wraps around an upper arm, and foot by foot he drags the mer free of the small tank. It gives a very human sounding cry of pain as its tail comes out of the curve it was forced to, but Slade ignores it. He drags the mer up the stairs, its tail a mostly limp, wet weight behind them. The fin drags against each step, and Dick stares at it and hopes, silently, that the delicate looking webbing doesn't tear.

When they reach the landing at the top of the stairs Slade lets it fall down onto its stomach, drawing the knife from his belt in one confident move and kneeling down to cut the ropes around its wrists. The second noise of pain, as its arms fall apart, is more like a keen than a cry, but Dick bites his lip all the same to hear it. He doesn't know how far away Slade brought the creature from, but being kept contained like that was clearly painful for it. He doesn't get muscle stiffness anymore, but Dick can imagine the pain from what he remembers of being human.

Its hands are only free for a moment before Slade puts a boot in its side and shoves it over the side of the landing. The cry of alarm is quickly silenced by the water as it hits with a large splash; Dick watches it sink towards the bottom as Slade heads back down the stairs.

It hits the sand, raising a small cloud of it into the water as it curls up, ducking its head in and hiding it under arms and the bulk of his tail. Hiding, like many of the creatures Slade brings home do. If Dick guesses right, the moment it's either alone or can swim easily again it will head for the cave in the corner and curl up into that instead. Almost everything does that to begin with.

"Does it have a name?" he asks, as Slade steps down onto the floor.

Slade lifts one shoulder in a shrug, coming to stand next to him and look into the tank. "Maybe you can find that out for me, boy. It can understand and speak almost all human speech, but it doesn't seem to want to speak to me. Maybe it will like you better." A hand reaches out, cupping his cheek for a moment. "Keep your distance though; it's one of the more dangerous things I've hunted in recent years and I don't want to see you damaged."

The hand slips back to curl in his hair and tug lightly at it, silently ordering him to follow as he leaves the room. "What's true and what isn't?" he asks, taking one step closer to Slade's back so he can look up and catch the look on the side of his face. "About the stories. He doesn't sing, right? We don't have to worry about that?"

"I have no idea how good of a singer it might be," Slade drawls, "but no, it can't enchant us or anyone else, if that's what you mean. It's not going to grow legs or summon storms either. Its only danger is physical, which is why I said to keep your distance. Since it doesn't know what you are it probably can't kill you, but it could maim you easily enough in ways you won't heal from. Don't give it the chance."

"I won't."

"That's a good boy," Slade praises, closing the door to the mer's room behind them and then turning to him. He's already rolling up his sleeve when he says, "Now go ahead and kneel down, boy. Let's get you fed."

Dick sinks gladly to his knees, keeping his fangs held in as Slade pulls his knife and cuts a slow, precise line across his wrist. Shallow, but it beads blood almost immediately and Dick feels himself focus in on that line of red. He keeps himself utterly still as Slade steps closer, the other arm lifting so Slade can curl fingers in his hair and then, _finally_ , pull him to that source of life.

He moans, his own hands lifting to cradle Slade’s arm and keep it carefully supported as his mouth presses to the scratch. With the blood drawn, with the taste of it spreading over his tongue and down the back of his throat, instinct’s demand to show his fangs and _bite_ subsides.

Slade combs fingers through his hair with a low, satisfied chuckle. “Good boy.”

* * *

The mer’s vanished by the time he and Slade are back in the room, bringing the rest of the samples that Slade brought in to join the tank. Bits of coral and kelp and a couple dozen shells of various sizes and colors that Dick’s pretty sure don’t contain anything living anymore. They can’t enter the tank to actually arrange any of it, but Slade brushes the concern off.

“It will move things as it likes when it stops sulking. Or it won’t. I don’t particularly care what it does with its tank, as long as it stays in it.”

Slade hands off its feeding instructions, and that’s that. Dick returns to caring for the creatures’ basic needs, and Slade to work and admiring his collection. Dick isn’t generally involved in any of that; he cares for Slade’s creatures and he gives whatever Slade wants from him, but he’s rarely around when Slade interacts with the other creatures he owns. It’s not really his business unless Slade wants it to be.

He doesn’t see the mer for another four days, but he delivers the hunks of raw meat to the tank regularly, and they’re always gone the next time he comes in. He pauses a moment the first time he sees a splintered, broken bone with clear teeth marks in the tank. Apparently all that remains of the last meal he delivered. He stays a bit further from the edge of the tank after that.

It’s the fifth night (as it has to be when he feeds the creature, thanks to that skylight) when he walks in and the mer is out of the cave. It’s moving things around, the long length of its tail fanned out behind it and scales reflecting the light from the lamps as it flits around with more grace and speed than Dick would normally expect from something of its size.

He tilts his head to watch, staying in the doorway. It’s shoved all of the shells into the furthest corner from its cave, half-buried in sand and clearly scorned. The coral pieces seem likewise hated, shoved in a different corner. They’re slightly less buried. The kelp it’s carefully planted again though, securing it into the sand and scattering the smaller plants all over the tank. When it grows, if it will grow, it should cover almost the whole thing in a forest.

It's adjusting one of the plants, circling it with small flicks of its tail as it pushes at the base of it with its hands. It tilts its head, and then suddenly it _snaps_ it up to look at him in a sudden rush. Dick feels, for a moment, a little spike of something like fight or flight. But the mer just watches him, still and staring. Dick recognizes that stillness; he's seen it in other creatures that Slade's collected. He's seen it in himself.

Dick approaches slowly, holding the gaze as he lifts the tarp-wrapped meat he's bringing in as a peace offering. The mer's gaze moves to it, narrowing slightly, and when it looks back up Dick offers a small smile. Some instinct makes him keep his teeth out of it.

"Hi," he offers, coming up to the tank with the meat, lifting the edge of the tarp off so the creature can see it. "My name is Dick. What's yours?"

The mer glares at him then, teeth baring in a sharp flash before it pushes back and away from the front of the tank. It moves in a sinuous wave of motion, gliding through the water and dipping low, picking up one of those bones from the meals Dick's been delivering. It goes to the cave, and Dick watches, curious, as it fits the bone into a crack of the rock, wedging it in with a hard shove. It turns to flash teeth at him again, then curl up just above the cave, nearly flat against the rock and with narrowed, unfriendly eyes.

"That's alright," he agrees, offering a second smile and then starting to slowly climb the stairs. "You like the bones, hm? If there's anything you need I can ask for it, and I can answer any questions you have. Slade told me that you could understand and speak most human languages; I know you probably don't want to right now, but whenever you do, I'll be here. Take as long as you want."

He wants to talk to the mer right away, to understand and meet him, but he's learned that you can't rush the new ones. They talk and interact when they're ready, when they've settled and begun to get lonely, and any push to get them to do it sooner only results in more anger and rejection. It's a mistake he's made once or twice before, and doesn't plan on making again. The mer will talk when it's ready. Till then, he'll bring it food, he'll talk to it, and he'll offer nothing but friendliness. (Trapped in that tank, it isn't likely to be able to do anything to try and escape.)

He lets go of the other edge of the tarp, letting the meat fall into the water with a splash. It trails blood as it sinks, and he watches it. For a moment nothing happens, then the mer lunges forward and grabs it, hooking it with one hand and then turning in a sharp curve. It's barely ten seconds before it's racing into the cave, neatly vanishing within and taking the meat with it. Dick stays there, sinking down into a crouch at the edge of the platform and just watching.

Minutes pass, but the mer doesn't reappear and nothing else moves.

"I'll see you tomorrow!" Dick calls, loud enough that he thinks it's fairly likely that the mer hears him. "Have a good day!"

There's no answer; he gives a quiet laugh as he bundles the tarp back up and starts down the stairs. It's not like he expected one. After all, the mer's still upset. It'll calm down at some point and until then? He'll wait.

* * *

The cave keeps gaining bones. Shards and larger pieces wedged into little corners. Dick's honestly not sure whether that's normal for its kind, or if this is some sort of territorial behavior because it feels threatened. Either way it's pretty cool looking, and he maybe starts to pick out the hunks of meat with more or bigger bones in them to give the mer. He doesn't get any kind of acknowledgement for it.

It takes just over a week for the mer to not retreat out of view, glaring at him all the way, whenever he comes in the room. Another week and a half past that before he hears it speak for the first time.

He's delivering the meat as usual, telling it about the rest of the creatures that Slade keeps; he's picked a new one to talk about each day. It isn't like the mer is engaging with him, but he speaks loudly enough to be fairly sure it's hearing and just talks as long as he's in the room. It's only little bits of information, whatever he can fit into the space, but that's something he can talk about without expecting or needing a response. Easier than awkward silences and continual disappointment.

The mer's not visible when he comes in, but he doesn't think anything of it. It's happened two or three times before, and he worried the first time but the mer was always just in the cave, so he let it go. It's a water-bound creature, and this is the only water in the property big enough to hold it. There's almost no way it could get free of the tank and crawl all the way out through Slade's home and locked doors, and then through the grounds outside, until it reaches the nearest river. And if it did? The tank must be saltwater for a reason, right? For Slade to have taken the expense to have it carted here? (And to have expended the effort to enchant the entire thing so that the water stays fresh and clean, instead of just refreshing it with plain freshwater.)

He's talking about Slade's fae creature, heading up the stairs of the platform with his usual gift and watching his footing past that package, and he's almost to the top when an errant sound stops him in his tracks. A scrape of something against metal, the slight splash of water, and then as his senses snap into focus a _heartbeat_. Loud, clear and not muted by the water like it's been before this.

His head jerks up, words dead on his tongue. The mer is _sitting_ on the platform, watching him with cool focus, its tail draping down into the water and swaying lazily back and forth. It doesn't look alarmed at his attention or reaction, and it doesn't move except to tilt its head slightly, glancing down at the meat he's carrying and then back up. Dick stares back, rapid-fire running through all the potential reasons it could be up on the platform. How did it even get up? Pure arm strength? That's a lot to lift. Unless it... jumped and just landed up here? That sounds painful.

It really boils down to: is it friendly or unfriendly? Is it up here to meet him, to talk or to make some sort of peace offering, or is it up here to try and drown him or rip his throat out? He'd survive either, but it would hurt, and there's no guarantee that it wouldn't rip his head off if the first try failed.

He shifts, judging the distance and then taking one more careful step up. "Hi," he greets, not making much of an effort to hide his wariness. Not approaching is enough of a sign of it, he might as well not try and pretend that he isn't cautious.

The mer just looks at him for long enough that Dick starts to think it isn't going to answer. Then, just when he's about to say something else, it offers, "Jason."

Its voice is low, husky, and Dick thinks it must be at least slightly magic-infused because he instantly likes the sound and wants to hear more of it. Deciding that is the reason why he doesn't actually understand what it's said, and belatedly asks, "What?"

It frowns slightly, eyes narrowing a touch. "Jason," it repeats, with a bit of an edge. "That's my name."

"Oh!" Politeness takes over before any sort of real thought. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Dick."

"I remember," it dismisses, gaze flicking down his frame in a way that distinctly makes him think that he's being sized up. Hungrily. Or maybe it's looking at the meat, he's really not sure. "Isn't that a human word for your male bits in this language?"

Oh, _this_ again. New creatures, the ones less accustomed to human culture, have a habit of asking him about that.

He pastes a small smile on his face. "It's slang for them, yes," he agrees. "It's a common nickname for people with my actual name; Richard. It's what I go by."

"Hm." It sounds disbelieving, maybe just that someone would choose that, but it doesn't continue the line of conversation. Instead it asks, "Where am I?"

Dick's not sure whether the mer means the continent, or the country, or even just the house, so he goes with the most obvious answer. "Slade's home. Fairly deep inside it."

Jason flashes teeth, hissing lightly between them. " _Slade_ ," it spits, like a curse word. Dick keeps his thoughts to himself.

They're all dangerous, all the creatures that Slade collects. When he already has one, or doesn't want it, he kills it and that keeps people safe. It's a good thing. The collecting is a stranger habit, but it still keeps the beasts off the street. How many humans did this 'Jason' kill before Slade took him? How many would Dick have killed if Slade didn't take him too? He understands why the creatures don't like it, why they might hate their captor, but this is good. It's better than letting them run wild.

He supposes he should stop thinking of the mer, Jason, as an ‘it.’ Some of Slade’s creatures are better fitted to ‘it’ than a gender, but this mer looks male, sounds male, and has a male name. That’s enough for him to assume that ‘he’ is the right title. Dick knows he shouldn’t humanize these creatures — they’re still dangerous beasts, no matter how human they act — but he doesn’t think that using the theoretically correct pronouns for it could cause any harm. Jason’s got a tail and lives in a tank; he’s not going to forget that he’s a beast.

"The ocean?" Jason demands, teeth hidden again but expression veering sharply towards unhappy and irritated.

"North-West of here. I think… seven or eight days away, with a cart and horse, but I haven't gone that direction." Jason’s expression falls a little further. "This isn't that bad, is it?" Dick asks, taking a look at the tank.

The tail flips up, spraying water into the air before splashing back down. It's an irritated movement if he’s ever seen one. "It's small," is the first complaint. "No life." Jason looks down at the meat he's holding, sneers with all his teeth baring. " _Dead_ meals, like I can't catch my own food."

"You'd want live fish?" He seizes on the one thing that he can actually do anything about. If Slade approves. "Aren't they too small to really make a meal?"

The look aimed at him is full of anger, and edged with something like disgust. "You don't know anything about me or my kind." Jason's gaze flicks over him, the disgust overtaking the anger. "You haven't earned the _right_ to hunt for me. Arrogant _bastard_."

Dick blinks, tilting his head. "Is that a cultural thing?" he asks. "The hunting thing? Because I didn't hunt this either; I'm just bringing you what we have." Jason hisses at him, head lowering and fingers bracing against the steel of the platform like he's about to leap at him. Only the fact that there's that cumbersome tail stops Dick from withdrawing a few steps down the stairs. "I'm sorry I don't know your culture," he says, and means it. "Look, I take care of everything Slade has here. That's my job. If there's some way I can make this better for you, I'd like to. Do you want something live to hunt? Would that help?"

Jason bristles. "I don't want anything _you_ have; you serve that hunter. I don't belong to you. I don't belong to _him_."

"You sort of do," Dick says, with a small shrug. "Slade brought you here; you're here to stay. That's how it works. You're not the first; you'll meet some of the others at some point, the ones that don't have their own habitats anyway."

" _Slaver_ ," he spits. "Weak, arrogant, humans. I'd tear your throats out if either of you had enough courage to fight me with some actual _respect_."

Dick isn't quite fast enough to stop himself from saying, "Yeah, that's probably why he didn't." Jason looks close to lunging at him regardless of his disadvantage, so Dick lets himself just say the next thing that's on his tongue as a distraction. "And actually, I'm not human. Not really, anyway. I'm one of Slade's collection too."

That surprises Jason a little bit, pulls him back from the edge of lunging. His eyes stay narrowed, his head tilting as he looks Dick over with more of a studying edge. Less like he's something to be eaten and more like he's trying to figure out what's different about him. He stays still and lets Jason look, even though there's not much to find. His skin's fairly pale, but the tone he had before his 'death' seemed to ease the paleness somewhat. He's not as deathly white looking as some of the others that Slade's shown him photographs of. His fangs are currently away, and otherwise he's indistinguishable from a human as long as no one's close enough to notice his lack of regular breathing and heartbeat.

He watches Jason's jaw set together, and knows that he can't identify him. Probably better not to give that information away quite yet, just in case Jason does know his kind and knows the fast-tracks to killing him. He doesn't think it's that likely that an ocean-dwelling creature would have had contact with vampires, but maybe there was some port, or dock… Maybe he's just heard stories.

"You're not alone," he deflects instead, with a small smile. "You can make friends here, get to know people. It's not as bad as you think it is right now. With time, it feels like home."

It's the wrong combination of things to say, which he learns when Jason's face instantly transforms into a heavy glare and he spits, "You stuck me in a _box_. I'm never making friends with you, you slaver _dick_."

Before Dick can even begin to defend himself Jason's pushed off the platform and slid back into the water. The splash is heavy enough to get him with a couple stray drops. He makes a bit of a face when one nearly lands in his eye, but shakes it off and ascends the remaining stairs with the meat. A cautious peer into the water shows Jason lingering about a dozen feet under the surface, glaring up at him. Dick gives a slightly apologetic smile, then kneels down so he can unwrap the meat he has and drop it down into the tank. Jason's not happy with it, but he still does need to eat, right?

Jason moves around it, grabbing it with both hands and staring at it, a look of disgust on his face. There's not much he can do about that right now. Dick turns to walk away, wrapping the tarp back up in his hands and crossing the platform to get back to the stairs.

He hears the splash of water before anything else. Then something smacks into his back, knocking him into the rail with enough force to sting and then falling to the platform behind him with a squishing thud that tells him what it is. As expected, the meat's sitting at his feet when he turns around, dripping somewhat bloody water onto the steel. He lifts his head with a sigh already on his lips, and gets smacked in the face with a deluge of water that shoves him back against the rail again and utterly soaks through his clothing and hair.

Dick spits the bit of it that got in his mouth out, the tang of salt heavy on his tongue as he shakes his head, trying to get the water out of his eyes. It sort of succeeds. It at least clears his vision enough to see the way that Jason, head above the water, grins before vanishing underneath the surface.

"Okay," he mutters, lifting a hand to rake his hair back from where it's clinging to his face. "Message received. Got it."

He wraps the meat back up in the tarp, grimacing at the bloody water — the smell is thick to him, but not appetizing; he doesn't think he wants to know what animal blood tastes like — but leaving it alone for now. Jason's nowhere to be seen as he walks back down the stairs, or all the way across the room, leaving a trail of water droplets behind him. He closes the door and leaves the whole thing behind him.

When he gets to the kitchen, Slade is sitting in one of the chairs. A scrying bowl in front of him, the silver-tinted water within rippling faintly despite the lack of apparent outward force to cause that. The cup of coffee in his hand smells strong enough to make Dick wrinkle his nose.

Dick opens the pantry, storing the meat away — he'll give it to one of the creatures that doesn't mind it already being dead tomorrow — before he heads back to the table.

"His name's Jason," he says, and Slade looks up.

His mouth curls into a faint smirk once he looks Dick up and down. "Oh?"

Dick nods, resisting folding his arms because it's just going to push the wet clothing against his skin. "He'd like live food. He doesn't like being hunted for."

"I imagine not," Slade says, amusement lingering in his expression as he takes a sip from the coffee. "I believe that the only people mers hunt for are children or mates." Dick blinks, putting those implications together in his head, and Slade chuckles and returns his attention to the scrying bowl. "I'll make sure our hunters pick up some live game while they're out. Make sure you clean up the water, hm?"

The wince comes without his permission as he thinks of that long trail of water from the tank to here, and the one not yet made from here to his room so he can change into something dry. "I will."

"Mm. Thank you, Dick."


End file.
